


second-hand emotion

by emilycmbl



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: ...i guess, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Based on a Tumblr Post, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn, Soulmates, like i hate myself for a lot of reasons but writing this is up there, this is probably the worst thing ive ever done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2019-11-16 01:57:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18085214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilycmbl/pseuds/emilycmbl
Summary: Arnold’s soulmate is in there somewhere, rattling around in his brain, laying out their groundwork in his life. He looks back down to the map of the United States. He’s never visited Florida before, but something about the state catches his eye.~soulmate au based on number 8.ii fromthis post:You get an ‘impression’ of your soulmate when you turn 18 or something but all I got was a strong smell of bananas or an overwhelming feeling that Thatcher was a good prime minister or an image in my mind of a fucking unicorn.so you know. oooorlando and all that





	1. an abrupt introduction

**Author's Note:**

> a HUGE shoutout to [hpd_lance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpd_lance) for proofreading and editing this fic for me, he was such an enormous help and i can never express how grateful i am so!! go check him out!! he's awesome!!

Arnold Cunningham receives the first sign that his soulmate exists at three forty-eight in the afternoon on his eighteenth birthday. He’d say that it’s a tense fifteen or so hours of waiting, from when the clock strikes midnight — but truth be told, he spends ten of those hours sleeping, and letting his parents worry whether he even has a soulmate or not.

He wakes up late, and his parents are, clearly, already stressed.

“Arnold!” his dad is saying — or, well, shouting — “Don’t you know what day it is?”

He opens his mouth to reply, but— “We’ve been trying to wake you for a few _hours_ , now, dear,” his mum cuts in before he can get a word in edgewise.

“It’s quarter past ten already! What if you missed it, and it happened in your sleep?” His dad’s walking into his room now, rearranging things that don’t need to be rearranged.

Arnold’s reply is groggy. “It didn’t happen.” His dad pauses in straightening a boxed set of movie art books, to glance over his shoulder at his son. “I know it,” Arnold lies.

He doesn’t _really_ know if it happened or not, because his sleep that night was just the same as it always was. Which _could_ be an indicator that it didn’t happen, but…he has no way of telling. It’s not like this has happened to him before.

His dad is silent, but keeps his hands off of Arnold’s stuff. His mum comes to sit next to him on his bed, and he sits up to meet her gaze.

“Happy birthday, Arnie,” she smiles softly, hugging him. When they break off, she holds him at arm’s-length, by the shoulders, looking him up and down. “Oh, I can’t believe my baby is eighteen years old already...” She inhales, not sharply, but…purposefully. “You’re a man now. Today, you’ll learn about your soulmate, and next year- you’ll be off changing the world! And after that…” She hesitates. Behind her, his dad pulls out his desk chair and moves it to sit next to his bed. The way his parents are set up makes him feel like he’s being interrogated. His mum sighs. “Look…the thing about soulmates is…”

“You won’t immediately know it’s them,” his dad finishes.

Arnold’s heard this all before. He asked how his parents met a handful of times over the course of his life, and each time they recited the same story of how both of them, on their eighteenth birthdays, were overcome with a sort of _presence —_ an _impression_ that was unique to the other, and they spent years after honing their focus on it until they found each other. They “can’t really explain” how it feels, which seems just a little _too_ convenient to Arnold.

It’s a tired cliche at this point; countless movie plots hanging on this idea of soulmates finding each other, even some classes in school that Arnold had (justifiably, in his opinion) tuned out of.

“I still remember it, clear as day,” his dad continues, “And you won’t understand it — not until it happens, Arnold. That is, _if_ it happens at all.” He checks his wristwatch.

“It comes so naturally that your brain might mistake it for a dream, and before you know it, you’ve missed your opportunity at happiness,” his mum says, smiling in a sort of sad, but knowing, way.

“What?!” Arnold asks, mildly panicked.

“We _did_ try to wake you up.”

“But, it’s only—“ he looks at the alarm clock sitting on his bedside table, “—a bit past ten! I still have over half the day left! Wouldn’t it be more likely that it _didn’t_ happen in my sleep?”

His mum shrugs, still smiling in that same way as she pats his arm. “Can never be too careful, though, can you?”

Arnold is left speechless on his bed as his parents exit his room, telling him to get up and finally start his day. It’s his eighteenth birthday, after all. Today he’ll (hopefully)  know who his soulmate is.

 _You won’t know who your soulmate is,_ a voice speaks in his mind. It’s some warped memory; a version of his mother, his schoolteachers, and about a thousand interchangeable Hollywood actors, all merged together, repeating this mantra he’s heard throughout his life. _But you will understand who they are._

What does that even _mean?_

He shakes the thought from his head, finally standing up to start his day. It’s a Saturday — pretty much the only day of the week he’s able to sleep in, and it turns out that doing so may just have cost him his chance at a happy life with his soulmate. He cringes, and tries not to think about it. He tells himself again that he still has fourteen hours of the day left — plenty of time for him to receive an impression from his soulmate. He tells himself he didn’t screw it up.

It’s only around five and a half hours later — when he gets irrationally elated while catching up on his US History homework, of all things — that he finally starts believing himself.

And that’s the first thing that comes to mind: elation. It hits him so out of left field that he’s forced to re-focus on the moment at hand, having completely zoned out of the mini-essay he was writing, now somehow hooked onto reality by his emotions.

He stands up from his desk, his chair scraping inharmoniously against the floorboards. He’s _happy_. Maybe the happiest he’s ever been. There’s a childlike wonder he can feel resonating somewhere behind his eyes, and above all he wants to latch onto it and never let go. He laughs in the isolation of his bedroom, covering his mouth with his hands.

This is it. He knows it, now; for sure.

The impression from his soulmate continues, and as it goes on it builds upon itself: the pure happiness he felt transforms into something resembling _hope_ . Hope, for the future, for the world, for humanity. It’s a hope so pure, built on such an innocent happiness, that he realises that it skips any resemblance of anticipation and marches right into ambition; a hardened resolve and pure, unadulterated _belief._ There’s determination flowing through his veins, now, and he sits back down to steady himself.

He lets himself breathe, if only for a few seconds. This _impression,_ this _presence_ in his mind, it feels almost invasive. But, in a good way, he supposes, if there ever is a good way to invade. Maybe not invasive, then, but more like…an abrupt and unexpected introduction. He hasn’t prepared for it, and it’s caught him slightly off-guard, even though he was expecting it for the last eighteen years of his life. His emotions just feel a little crowded, that’s all.

His soulmate is still in there somewhere, rattling around in his brain, in his soul, laying out their groundwork in his life. He looks back down to his history homework, his book open to a map of the United States. He’s never visited Florida before, but something about the state catches his eye.

The happiness now inside him is still strongly there, dancing around next to a ray of hope that shines through with more intensity than the sun. That’s one word for it, he decides: _intense._

There’s another word he can describe it as, but he can’t place it exactly. It’s somewhere on the tip of his tongue, but it’s hiding somewhere, behind the brightness of all of his soulmate’s emotions flowing in him.

The impression never loses its touch, he notices, even though it must go on for a few minutes. A non-stop show of bright sunshine, pure ambition, and a sudden need to visit Disney World in Orlando one day. He’s smiling the whole time, but still can’t find the words to describe it fully.

Before he decides that it might be okay to not be able to put it into words, the impression fades from his mind.

He isn’t sad that it’s gone, though, and jumps up from his chair yet again, laughing boisterously and jumping on the spot. His heart is pounding wildly, and there’s an energy in him now that won’t allow him to sit still. His parents soon come to check on what all the ruckus is about, hope in their minds for one thing only, and it’s when Arnold turns to them, unable to stop grinning, that the other word finally comes to his mind.

Artificial.

False; a facade. He falters a bit, realising what he’s feeling _now_ is closer to actual happiness. If anything, the bright sunshine analogy should only apply _after_ the impression faded from his mind — what he felt during it was more like a work light for night construction. Which isn’t to say it didn’t start out genuine — there’s something in that original happiness and hope that Arnold can’t shake — but that drive he felt, the persistent light, that was all certainly trying to hold ground on something that had disappeared a while ago.

He doesn’t know how to explain it. He supposes he should cut his parents some slack.

He does give the impression some credit, though, since it couldn’t have been _so_ artificial, especially considering it took Arnold coming out of it to realise something was a little off about it. Maybe he wasn’t even supposed to notice it; maybe even his _soulmate_ hadn’t.

“Well?” His dad asks.

Arnold can’t answer. He laughs again and pulls his parents into a hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmu on my bom blog [allamerican-asshole](https://allamerican-asshole.tumblr.com/) if you wanna see me scream abt how much i love this musical
> 
> thanks for reading!


	2. perfect smiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imma keep it real with you chief, this chapter is p much 100% filler
> 
> but i still like it so. enjoy :)

“Well, you’ve finally done something right.”

It’s something that Arnold’s dad has only said to him a few times in his nineteen years of life. Once, after he got his impression from his soulmate. A second time when he graduated high school. And he said it to him now, after he came home from the Mission Training Centre to reveal he successfully completed his missionary training, and was now being sent off to Africa with one Kevin Price as his mission companion.

Uganda wasn’t exactly his first choice; it just means that it’ll now be two full years before he gets the chance to go to Orlando and possibly find out more about his soulmate — maybe even meet them. He’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t (and still is) a little disappointed to learn he isn’t being sent to the City Beautiful.

“That’s nice, dear,” his mother says.

Appreciating the praise from both of them, he quickly makes his way to pack his things.

The suitcase in his room is half full already, despite his dad’s insistence that he shouldn’t bother packing until he was _one-hundred percent certain_ that he’d be sent on a mission, and wouldn't fail spectacularly during his training. He silently revels in the fact that he proved his dad wrong, if only in this small moment. The only thing left to do now is change the world on his mission.

His mission with _Kevin Price,_ as if there isn’t already enough proof that Heavenly Father exists.

Kevin is the best elder at their centre. Like, objectively. He’s smart and nice and perfect, and even though he didn’t get to go to Orlando, Kevin more than makes up for it — he can’t see their friendship and their time together in Africa as being anything less than amazing. Or, maybe incredible is the word.

He’d prayed to Heavenly Father more than once to be paired with Kevin. He figures it’s natural to be drawn to someone like him, especially since he exudes such confidence and leadership, and Arnold was born a follower. It just makes sense to him for them to be together. Arnold’s never actually had a proper conversation with Kevin yet, at least nothing more than introductions and pleasantries, but he knows in his heart somewhere that theirs is the kind of relationship where even admiring Kevin from afar is enough to make them best friends.

And he can’t wait.

 

* * *

 

For the most part, Kevin and Arnold seem to be on the same page as they wait for their flight to be called.

It’s been almost half an hour since their families and Mrs. Brown left them, and the longer they wait, the more fidgety Kevin seems to get. Arnold tries to distract him from whatever it could be that’s bothering him by offering that they get to know one another better, but the conversation limps its way through awkward pauses and half-hearted discussions. To be fair, it’s only the beginning of their friendship — Arnold’s positive they’ll get better at it.

Arnold finds out almost nothing about Kevin while they wait, nor anything about him on the flight, other than that he’s able to sleep through both the stewardess and Arnold trying to wake him up for food.

 

* * *

 

Within the first several hours of landing in Uganda, Arnold does learn at least one thing about Kevin: he’s very good at smiling.

He flashes a perfect smile for Arnold’s video, and Arnold can’t think of a better souvenir to remember their time by. Kevin offers a bright grin to the armed guards before they take away their luggage, and keeps smiling as they get introduced to the villagers and their problems. Arnold doesn’t see the smile one-hundred percent of the time, of course not — who would be happy about anyone saying the ‘F’ word to Heavenly Father? — but he notices that Kevin keeps it up even as the elders in Kitguli inform them of their zero baptisms. Kevin is really, very good at smiling.

The smile drops when they’re alone in their room.

“This is all just…so _not_ what I was expecting,” Kevin complains.

They’re sitting in their beds, and the only thing Arnold can see of Kevin is his back. He tries to cheer him up, and maybe he lies a little, but at least Kevin turns to look at him.

“Just…Remember why we’re here,” Kevin says. “Can you do that for me?”

“I’d do anything for you,” Arnold states, unthinkingly.

A lullaby and a half conversation later, Arnold has gotten Kevin to smile at least once before bed with promises of baptisms and his undeniable awesomeness.

He goes to sleep, dreaming of Kevin and his dad eating a fancy dinner in a dark restaurant. Arnold waits on their table, bringing them each an in-flight meal.

 

* * *

 

Kevin didn’t say anything funny, but Arnold is laughing anyway. He does that when he’s nervous sometimes, though he doesn’t really understand why he ought to be nervous around Kevin. They’re best friends. You’re not supposed to get nervous around your best friend, are you?

Kevin keeps saying unfunny things, and Arnold keeps laughing. He’s probably just nervous because it’s their first time trying to preach the Book of Mormon outside their training centre, and Kevin is sort of trying to corral him. Kevin should be the one doing this, anyway. He’s better at it.

It’s only when the daughter of the village chief asks Kevin what the difference between Christians and Mormons is that Arnold takes his cue to slip into the background. Kevin has a huge grin on his face now, and it’s different to any of the smiles Arnold has seen on him before. It’s jumping off his face, radiating the air around him, and generally bringing in bright and blinding light. Kevin’s gushing about Joseph Smith, waving his arms around and Arnold’s doing his best to support him. He’s not sure if he’s ever seen anybody have this much passion about the Mormon faith, or this much passion at all, really. Kevin keeps grinning, and Arnold thinks it’s nowhere near as prim and proper as any of his smiles from before, not even close, but he reckons Kevin probably isn’t thinking about it this time.

Still, as Kevin tells the story of Joseph Smith — and sure, it may be the most Arnold’s seen him being so open to anyone — it seems like he’s holding back. Or something. Kind of. Arnold can only really think to describe Kevin and what he’s doing as _perfect_ , but it feels a little more insidious than that.

But he doesn’t really have time to focus on that, because the General is suddenly there, shouting something about the clitoris.

 

* * *

 

Arnold has to say, someone ditching him to try and go to a whole other country is a new one. He’d say he was surprised, but it was probably inevitable.

His mouth is dry and he keeps clearing his throat. He can feel the Ugandans’ interest slowly slipping through his fingers, just like his copy of the Book of Mormon is about to do if he keeps sweating this much; he flicks through unfamiliar pages as he feels his lungs heaving. Kevin’s right. Bishop Donoghue’s right. His dad’s right. And everything that’s coming out of his mouth is wrong, wrong, wrong — since when did anyone think it would be a good idea to leave him to his own devices? Arnold can’t handle being here.

Never in his life has he had this many people staring at him. They’re all looking for answers, too — answers that he told them he has. He laughs, offering them a nervous smile instead. He’s not cut out for this. He sweats, and lies, then lies some more.

He tells himself he’s not screwing up. He’s lying, though, and he knows it.


	3. no barricades

“Elder Price is in the hospital.”

He hadn’t been looking so hot the last time Arnold saw him. The news still hits him like a bus, though.

“What? Why?” Arnold jumps up from his seat on the couch to confront Elder McKinley as he closes the door behind him, his face grim with the news. The other elders start to pool in together, too.

“Didn’t say,” Connor sighs. “Something about patient-doctor confidentiality and,” he shrugs, “he kept it confidential.”

Poptarts squeaks up from behind Arnold. “Is he going to be okay?”

Connor nods, avoiding eye contact with all of them. “The doctor said he’d be discharged soon.” He turns to Arnold. “Elder Cunningham, you should—”

“Yeah,” Arnold says.

Connor goes on to talk with Poptarts about fees and bills, and a quiet murmur settles through the base.

All thoughts seem to drain from Arnold’s mind. He can’t feel his fingers, and he’s apparently rooted to the spot as the other elders continue to go about their business. His heartbeat is slow and loud in his ears, as if it made the executive decision to move to his brain instead of where it should be in his chest, and now his body isn’t getting nearly enough circulation as it needs, and his breathing is quickening, and he can’t feel anything, and he can’t think anything, and he’s pretty sure he’s about to faint.

His feet stumble their way to the couch more so than he does, and he flops down on the old thing unceremoniously.

_Kevin’s in the hospital._

Okay. That’s okay. People get admitted to the hospital all the time. And admitting _yourself_ is a normal thing to do. It’s not like Kevin and Arnold are best friends; learning he’s in the hospital _now_ instead of helping before he even had to go isn’t an insane proposition. Besides, the last time they talked he looked a little pale, and Arnold isn’t even sure if Kevin’s had a proper meal in the past few days — plus, the stress of Uganda seemed to be getting to him. Who’s to say that if Arnold was around he wouldn’t still be in the same place? Maybe Kevin’s hospitalisation was inevitable, whether they were separated or not.

“Elder Cunningham?”

He jumps slightly. He hadn’t noticed Poptarts hovering over him from the side of the couch.

“Oh! Elder Thom—tarts…” The names get tangled in his brain. He clears his throat. “Um, what’s up?”

“Elder Price’ll be okay,” he says, taking a seat next to Arnold. He makes no note of his awkward speech failings. “It’s normal to worry, but don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“I’m not—” Arnold starts, then realises, _Oh. That’s exactly what I’m doing._

“There’s no need to feel guilty about this sort of thing,” Poptarts continues, and they don’t really sound like his own words.

“But,” Arnold counters, “I don’t know— if I was there for him, if I made _sure_ we followed rule seventy two, then maybe—”

“It’s okay, Elder Cunningham.” Poptarts puts his hand on Arnold’s arm. He smiles. “Everything will be fine.”

Arnold doesn’t really believe him, but then again, who is he to talk about trusting someone’s word?

“O-…okay.” he concedes. “I guess.”

It’s Poptarts’ declaration that Kevin will be fine that gets him through the day.

Arnold thinks about him, when someone in the village asks for the millionth time where he is ( _I could have sworn there were more of you!_ ), and he thinks about him when he tells the chief’s nice daughter that he’s going to be rewarded for everything he’s done — everything Kevin wanted, not him. And he thinks about him when he hears his name come up — someone says something about a cafe, and Arnold is already looking for directions.

There’s a strange feeling in his gut as he makes his way to Kimbay’s Kafe, and he isn’t quite sure what to do with it.

He stalls outside for a minute or two. He can’t even see if Kevin’s inside.

The last time they’d talked, they didn’t really…talk. The other elders were there and Arnold didn’t really want to see Kevin at all — every time he looked at him, he’d suddenly feel like he was speaking in front of the Ugandans again, unsure and clammy, like the rug had been pulled out from underneath him, and at any moment now he’d hit the ground. That desperate isolation wasn’t exactly new to him — heck, it practically defined his entire high school career — but there was a fun swirl of betrayal thrown in the mix, just to spice things up a bit.

But he kind of wanted to talk to Kevin, absolutely, if not to just clear everything up, but whenever they’d even get close, the insecurity in his stomach would flare up, and all he would hear was Kevin shouting at him.

Arnold shifts his weight between his feet. Maybe he should go. It’s not like any of the last few conversations he’s had with Kevin have been all that good.

His conscience pipes up somewhere in his head, reminding him that Kevin was in the hospital. And technically, they’re still mission companions, so he’s probably obligated to do _something._ He sighs, marching into the cafe as if he has any confidence at all.

His first thought is that Kevin looks like crap. He isn't proud of the vulgarity, but Kevin’s…state…is something he’d never thought he’d see. He’s surrounded by empty coffee cups, all presumably belonging to him, his posture is sloppy, his hair is messy, and it’s obvious that his clothes haven’t been washed in some time.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d leave the coffee shop that instant and continue his search for his companion elsewhere.

Arnold asks Kevin if he’s okay, and he doesn’t reply, just smiles sickly sweet. “Oh, you spreading the word, huh? You making more brainwashed zombies?” His gaze is piercing Arnold right through his soul, that grin lighting up as if trying to expose everything Arnold’s done. It’s like Kevin’s using his smiling powers for evil instead of his usual good.

“Elder Price, what happened to you?” Arnold blinks and the smile drops to a look of irritation.

Kimbay tries to quietly fade into the back room.

“Oh, I _woke up,_ that’s what happened.” He sneers into what must be his thirteenth cup of coffee. Arnold can practically hear his eyes rolling.

He wishes Kevin would give him a straight answer, because it must have been something truly terrible for Kevin to act like this. Arnold was fully expecting him to get on the next flight out of Uganda and to never see him again, so to see him so utterly broken in front of him — so utterly _not Kevin_ — it was a shock to say the least.

He’s nowhere near perfect now, he isn’t happy in the slightest, and if Arnold’s reading this right, he’s teetering on a loss of faith. There always used to be something between them — a barrier, a buffer, a simple, glaring stop sign — and now Kevin’s breaking that down of his own volition, breaking through to tell Arnold exactly what he’s thinking; if only he’d tell him what _happened._

“You get everything you pray for,” Kevin grumbles. Arnold isn’t sure that’s entirely correct.

Kevin’s a dark and brooding rain cloud, Arnold realises, ominously rolling in and blotting out the sun. He isn't even a storm; he’s the humidity that clings to your skin — his atmosphere is simply pure discomfort. Nothing’s holding him back now, he’s saying exactly what’s on his mind to Arnold — no barricades, nothing to hide behind, nothing to protect either one of them — and Arnold realises now why he was so perfect before.

It must have been something of a front. To break down, to crash and burn this harshly — Arnold doesn’t believe for a second that it could happen to someone who isn’t holding up layers upon layers of their own fabricated reality.

“The universe doesn’t work the way we were told!” Kevin yells, not necessarily to Arnold; maybe to the cafe, or maybe to Heavenly Father. Maybe to himself.

It’s a confession, Arnold notices, though not in the traditional sense. It hangs in the air between them, as blatant and uninhibited as its proclaimer, undoing years of belief, exposing _perfect_ hard work.

Kevin looks at Arnold like he couldn’t possibly understand, then sighs. He smiles sadly. “When I was nine years old, my family took a trip to Orlando, Florida. And it was the most wonderful, most magical place I’ve ever been.”

Arnold’s heart spasms in his chest. It somersaults, stumbles, throws a fit and does all but stop completely, and lodges itself squarely in his throat.

“Orlan…” Arnold mutters, but snaps his mouth shut as Kevin keeps talking.

Well, this is fine. Arnold at least tells himself as much as Kevin continues to ramble, and he’s repeating it over and over again so loud in his head that he can’t really hear what Kevin’s saying. But, that’s fine. This is fine.

Because really, it’s not as if the only other person in the world allowed to mention Orlando is his soulmate. It’s a big city — a popular one, too, drawing in millions upon millions of people a year. If anything, Arnold got given the short straw on his soulmate, because of all the millions of people in America, even out of all the billions of people in the world, so, _so_ many of them could be connected to Orlando in one way or another that it would be laughable to think that the very one Arnold is looking for is standing in front of him _right now._

But Kevin is talking about how hard he’s worked his whole life, and how trusting he’s been in his faith, and Arnold’s heartbeat isn’t getting any slower, so there might be a few things he’ll need to consider.

So sure, maybe the universe works in mysterious ways, and maybe this is a sign, or something, and maybe Arnold should be listening a little closer to Kevin when he’s divulging such personal, deep information, but now Kevin’s sitting down and he’s about to stop talking and Arnold has to say _something_ in return, but he has to get his mind off of Orlando or he’s sure the next words out of his mouth will be _Weird question, but are you my soulmate?._

Gosh. He really doesn’t need this right now. Just… _turn it off._

“Yeah, okay, so, anyway…” Completely disregard what Kevin said. He can think about all that stuff later. What else did he need to tell Kevin? “The mission president is coming? And…if I don’t have my companion it just looks kind of ba—”

“So that’s why you came!” Kevin snaps.

“No,” he snaps back, “I came because I care about you,” he says, and it’s not until the words fall out of his mouth that he realises just how true they are. His face is heating up.

“Bullpoop!” Kevin yells. “That is bullpoop, Elder, and you know it!”

Arnold just barely stops himself from blurting out something else, probably something way more confessional then he means, or something way more stupid than he wants, or something way further from the truth than he ever intends. But his heart is still beating wildly, and this was all supposed to go a lot smoother than this, and he’s kind of getting tired of Kevin yelling at him.

“Okay, look,” he starts, and there’s a trace of venom in the words, “I know that we may not be the best of companions, but if we could _please_ just act like we’re still together in front of the mission president, then you can get your ticket home, and I can get my medal...” Suddenly, Arnold’s floating. Not through the air — definitely nowhere near cloud nine — but he’s drifting off into space, abandoned by the ground beneath him. He shouldn’t have talked back to Kevin like this. He hones in on that untethered feeling. “…and we never have to see each other ever again.”

“Fine,” Kevin agrees, quickly. Too quickly. “But don’t talk to me, and don’t touch me.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

He touches him anyway, just to spite him; he jabs him in the stomach before running back out of the cafe, adrenaline pulling his body every which way.

So, fine. Kevin can fly to Orlando and leave Arnold behind for all he cares — he’s not even needed in Uganda anymore. Maybe he can say hi to Arnold’s soulmate while he’s over there.

 

* * *

 

Arnold can hear his dad yelling at him, even from half a world away.

It was an unmitigated disaster. Pretty much everything he touches turns out that way, anyway, so he really shouldn’t be surprised. But this time he’s pretty sure he’s screwed over more than just himself.

_What did I tell you?_ His dad would say. _Of course something like this happened. Of course it was your fault._

He shrinks into himself.

Kevin’s behind him, he knows, having followed him after he saw the nice village girl crying, running away from the mock set they’d put up. He tried catching up to her, but seeing her break down so heavily put a stop to both his heart and his legs.

“Oh, boy, I really did it this time, huh?” He says, not particularly asking Kevin. He’s putting the blame on himself before Kevin gets the chance to. “I mean, I’ve always been a screw up, but this,” he gestures to the general _everything._ He turns around to Kevin, any more words he was intending to say catching in his throat when he sees he’s picked up the discarded play script.

“Joseph Smith...dying of dysentery.” He flicks slowly through the pages. “Moroni from...the Starship Enterprise. That play...” He closes the script and chuckles dryly. Arnold flushes red with embarrassment, cringing to prepare for a verbal onslaught. “...was the most miraculous thing I’ve ever seen.”

“...Huh?”

Arnold can only describe the look on Kevin’s face as _soft_ , a far cry from when he found him at Kimbay’s. As he continues, a slow but sure smile spreads across his face and when they lock eyes, a quiet giggle manages to escape past Arnold’s lips without his permission. It’s a genuine smile this time, and Arnold realises how rarely it actually shows on Kevin, because even his perfect ones never made him feel like sunlight was shining in his chest.

Kevin’s gaze is reaching straight into Arnold’s soul, he’s searching his eyes like he holds the answer to life, the universe and everything. And apparently he does find something, because there’s a sudden spark in his eyes.

“You went out and did...something _incredible_ ,” Kevin breathes out. He takes a step back, looking him up and down.

And he’s gushing, Arnold notices, because the huge, stupid, imperfect grin on his face is back and he’s waving his hands around in unnecessary gestures as he goes on about what he’s calling Arnold’s ‘achievements’.

“Oh, but they were _happy,_ Elder. And hopeful, and— their costumes!” He laughs. A small smile cracks on Arnold’s face, and Kevin looks off into the distance, a childlike wonder in his eyes, if only for a brief moment. “It was almost like Orlando.”

Kevin lets out a laugh, and Arnold joins in. It’s a nervous laughter, but Arnold isn’t sure that Kevin notices, or even cares. And so he laughs, letting his heart beam with sunshine at the sight of Kevin being happy again, and he laughs as he tells himself that he is so totally, completely and utterly _screwed._


	4. cabinets and counters

“Hey, Arnold,” Kevin yawns. It’s a lazy morning acknowledgement as he goes to grab a box of cereal, passing by Arnold sitting at the kitchen table.

“Hey. Hi, good morning.” Three greetings. All in a row, too. Is that some kind of record? Arnold shrinks as best he can into his cup of orange juice. 

It’s a pretty early morning, and not many of the other elders are up yet. Arnold can hear someone having a shower, and some rustlings coming from some of the quarters, but for the time being, it’s just him and Kevin alone in the kitchen. He pulls up a chair across from him, sitting down and eating his breakfast wordlessly. 

“No coffee today?” Arnold comments.

Kevin shakes his head. 

They exist in comfortable silence for a moment or two, and Arnold lets himself take some joy in being a part of little things with Kevin. He feels himself smiling.

“Hey, question,” Kevin says, sitting up a bit straighter. He swallows what cereal was in his mouth before continuing. “You’re like…fiercely loyal, right?”

Arnold doesn’t really know where this question came from, or how on earth to answer.  _ Is _ he? Kevin’s really his first friend, and they ended up staying together despite everything that happened. Would that be considered being loyal? “Uh…I guess?”

Kevin isn’t looking at Arnold, his eyes gazing off into space. “Yeah…you’re sort of clingy and stuff…”

“Excuse me?” 

Kevin doesn’t answer, his mind apparently already on another subject. “Hey, would you describe Connor as being creative?”

Arnold is at a slight loss for words. He doesn’t really see the connection between the two subjects, or why Kevin thought to ask him. “Uh, I don’t know,” he shrugs. “I don’t really know him all that well yet.”

Kevin slumps in his chair. “Me neither…” His brow is furrowed, and he’s staring in the general direction of Connor’s room.

“Why?”

Kevin blinks, his gaze snapping back to Arnold. He sits back up in his chair. “Oh. No reason.”

Arnold scoffs. “That’s a lie.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, though, he wonders if it was impolite for him to call Kevin out on it.

“Yeah, well…I guess you’d be the expert on that, huh?”

He hesitates. What in the world could Kevin possibly mean by that? Is he insulting him? Is it supposed to be a joke? How is he supposed to respond? Is talking to people always supposed to be so confusing?

“…I guess,” he eventually settles on.

The comfortable silence between them has all but snuck away, replaced instead with dead air — or at least very sickly air — leaving Arnold with no stable footing and running through several possible exit strategies. Neither of them say anything or even really move at all until Kevin finishes his cereal, getting up to discard the dirty dish. Arnold sighs, realising he’s been sitting at the table far longer than he intended. 

The next time that day Arnold finds himself in the kitchen is when it’s been dark for quite some time, and he hasn’t seen Kevin for a few hours. Ordinarily that level of separation would be cause for concern, but life without strict Mormon rules allows them to let a few things slide. 

He hadn’t even meant to be in the kitchen, but suddenly a fit of laughter burst from the room and he found himself in the doorway, looking on at an incredibly amused Connor and slightly bewildered Kevin, wondering what all the ruckus is about. 

Connor’s howling with laughter, clutching his sides, and as Arnold walks up to them he can see some tears starting to form under his eyes.  _ Shut up, _ Kevin’s muttering, and Arnold can’t help but giggle at the sight. 

“Oh, hi, Elder Cunningham,” Connor says between elated breaths. “How’s your night going?” Arnold can tell he’s trying hard to calm down from the laughing attack, a wide grin plastered on his face.

“What’s so funny?” Arnold asks.

Connor starts giggling again. 

“It  _ isn’t _ funny,” Kevin insists. “…And  _ it _ isn’t anything! Nothing’s funny!” His cheeks are blooming rose red. 

“Well, I think  _ some _ things are funny,” Arnold says. Connor laughs. “Are you okay, Elder McKinley?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” he says, patting Arnold on the arm. “Just fine, thank you. I just—“ he wipes a tear from his eye, “—oh, my gosh, I cannot deal with this right now.” He giggles. Kevin scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

Arnold looks at the two of them. Kevin’s leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, foot tapping, a look of slight irritation and betrayal on his face. Connor could definitely not care any less, holding onto the counter for support more than anything. The distinction between the two of them brings enough humour to the situation for Arnold, even if he still doesn’t know what was so funny. 

“Well, I’ll leave you two be, then,” Connor decides abruptly, starting to head off in the general direction of his room. 

“What?” Kevin asks, his eyes widening. 

“Elder Price,” Connor pauses on his way out of the room, and the two apparently have some sort of psychic conversation that Arnold isn’t clued in on. “I’m not above making fun of how stupid you are,” he says, finally, then grins. “Okay, goodnight!”

Once it’s just him and Kevin alone in the kitchen again, Arnold makes his way to stand next to him, mimicking his leaning against the counter. 

“What was that all about?”

“Nothing,” Kevin says. “Connor’s just being a dick.”

Arnold cocks his head in a silent question. Kevin flashes a nervous smile. Neither of them say anything for a bit. 

After a while, Kevin clicks his tongue. “So…” He opens his mouth as if to say something, but nothing comes out.

“So...?”

It’s after a few seconds of Kevin trying and failing to follow up with anything at all that he clears his throat, shifting in his stance. “We’re best friends.”

It isn’t a question, but it’s still a weird statement to make out of nowhere. “Yeah, we are.”

“Right,” Kevin nods.

Arnold nods, too, not sure where he’s going with this. “Okay.” This conversation is getting nowhere. “Did you forget that we are? Or—”

“No,” Kevin says, frantically, “We are! We’re best friends, I just…if we  _ weren’t _ , then…you’d be okay, right?”

“What?”

“I mean, you did pretty okay by yourself for a bit when we first got here. And I remember you at the training centre, you actually did really good without any help.”

“Oh.” Arnold nods. “You mean I didn’t have any friends.” He doesn’t point out to Kevin that he really didn’t do that well at all.

Kevin looks down. “…Right. So, you’re kind of used to being alone, huh?”

Arnold looks Kevin up and down. “Elder Price, are you okay?”

“What? Yes?”

“Do you have cancer?” Arnold whispers.

Kevin smiles. “Oh, no, I’m—I’m fine, Arnold,” he chuckles. “I was just,” he shrugs, “…curious…?”

Arnold considers it. Kevin’s smile is sort of one-sided and sloppy, like he’s a new puppy that just tracked mud into the house. Arnold hums. “Okay.”

Despite the fact that the conversation isn’t really saying anything, Arnold can’t help but feel warmth flooding through his veins at Kevin confirming their friendship. The new smiles he’s been seeing lately are a net positive, too — he should tell Kevin sometime that he looks much better without that layer of perfection. 

Kevin bounces off the counter, making his way to their room. “Yeah, you’d be fine.”

Arnold giggles. “Really, if you are going to die, you should probably tell me first.”

“You think I wouldn’t? You’re my best friend.”

It’s the casual assuredness Kevin says it with that makes Arnold let out an involuntary laugh, his heart galloping as they make their way to their living quarters. 

That night Arnold is woken up by sounds in the kitchen that definitely should not be being made at that hour of the morning. He looks over to Kevin, still deep in his slumber. He debates for a second whether or not to a) leave him and check on the sound, b) wake him up and disturb him, or c) just go back to sleep. He sighs. 

Groggily, he makes his way to the kitchen, hoping to not find any burglars or lions making themselves comfortable among the cabinets and counters. He pauses in the doorway when he sees a tuft of red hair poking out from behind the island. 

“Elder McKinley?”

The tuft of hair jumps as Connor scrambles to his feet and turns around to face Arnold. 

“Elder Cunningham! What are you doing awake?”

He looks around, as if the answer is hiding somewhere in the corner of the room. He catches sight of the clock — it’s three forty-eight in the morning — before looking back to Connor and gesturing towards him vaguely. 

Connor nods. “That’s fair enough.” He clears his throat, then beckons him over with a cock of his head. “Come, sit with me.”

Arnold, deciding that he has nothing else better to do, and that since he’s already up and about he might as well, joins Connor on the floor, resting against the cabinets holding their pots and pans. They settle in on the ground together, adjusting their backs to the grooves of the cabinet doors. 

“So, why are you out here?” Arnold asks.

“Well, it’s a lot cooler out here than it is in my quarters, and the kitchen light isn’t as garish and blinding as the bathroom light is, you know?” Arnold raises an eyebrow, and Connor chuckles nervously. “Okay, I mean…” He sighs. “Come on, Elder, you know.”

“Know what?”

Connor throws his hands up, shaking his head. “Stress. Just, everything. Of being district leader.  _ Life _ in general. It’s… Well, I haven’t cried over it yet, so that’s probably a good sign, right?”

Arnold swallows. He goes to speak, but no words come. They cling to the insides of his throat, scrambling back down into his stomach and causing his gut to turn with nerves. “Oh, um…” He clears his throat as quietly as he can. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Connor looks like the very thought is enough to make him throw up. He brings his legs up, clinging his knees to his chest. His voice is shaky. “I know I probably should. But I really,  _ really…”  _ He shakes his head, not even looking at Arnold, staring at some spot on the floor,  _ “don’t _ want to.”

Arnold exhales, his shoulders slumping. “That’s fine, Elder. That’s okay,” he lies. 

Well, he sort of lies. He’s not really sure if it counts as lying, because he’s not even sure of what the truth would be here. Should Connor be talking about it? Hasn’t he been doing fine just going about turning it off? But the mere mention of talking about what he’s feeling was enough to get Connor to recede, so maybe what he really needs right now is a distraction. 

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

Connor blinks. “Yeah, of course.”

Well, dang. Arnold didn’t really prepare for this part. What’s a topic that’ll get Connor’s mind off of everything? Arnold’s brain flounders for something to talk about and as each second passes, Connor is getting more and more expectant. Arnold panics. He blurts out the first thing on his mind.

“I think Kevin is my soulmate.”

He cringes internally, and feels his face heating up immediately. He prays to Heavenly Father that Kevin is as much of a deep sleeper as he thinks he is, and wonders why anyone thought it was a good idea for him to have been given a mouth and vocal chords.

“…Oh.” Arnold cringes again. He didn’t even ask a question! How was that supposed to help him? Now it’s on  _ Connor _ to continue the conversation — Arnold mentally smacks himself upside the head. “What was your impression? No, sorry, my bad,” Connor backtracks, “you don’t have to answer that.”

A soulmate’s impression is usually a highly personal thing, but screw it-- this is apparently what they’re talking about now. “Um…Orlando? And, you know, he’s uh…yeah.”

“Huh.” Connor considers it for a moment. “Are you sure it’s Elder Price? Like, Orlando’s kind of a broad topic.”

Arnold falters for a second. “Well, I…” How personal are they going to get here? Arnold’s about eighty percent sure that Kevin is his soulmate, but how is he supposed to explain that to Connor without revealing more about his impression?

“I mean, uh,” Connor backtracks again, “your gut feeling is probably right. Don’t listen to me.” He chuckles lightly, unfurling his body slightly, resting his arms on his knees. “So, are you gonna tell him?”

Arnold lets out a bark of laughter much louder than he meant to. Connor shushes him playfully. “Sorry, I just,” he giggles, “that’s probably not gonna happen anytime soon.”

Connor cocks his head. “Why not?”

Arnold laughs again, much quieter this time. “I don’t know…I can’t do that!”

Connor hums, nodding. “Well, I know this might sound rich, coming from me, but you should try opening up to him. It can’t hurt, can it?” Arnold looks at him, uncertainty painting his features, and finds that Connor doesn’t really look so sure himself. “I don’t know. I’m not the best with this stuff.” He shifts uncomfortably in his spot. 

Arnold bites his lip. What else is there to say? “Uh, hey, what were you and Elder Price talking about last night?”

Connor blinks. “Oh, uh…” He crosses his legs and drops his hands in his lap. He inhales. “Personal stuff,” he nods. “Yeah, personal stuff.”

Arnold furrows his brow. “You were laughing in his face.”

He keeps nodding, and Arnold can’t help but think he’s starting to look like a bobble head. “Yep. I—I was. I did do that. It was funny personal stuff,” he reasons. 

“Okay…?”

Silence pervades for a moment or two, neither of them really knowing where to take the conversation next. 

Connor exhales. “You know, you’re really cool, Elder Cunningham.”

Arnold looks at him. “Really?”

“Yeah. I…I like talking to you.”

“…Really?”

“Mm-hm.”

Arnold looks down. “I like talking to you, too, Elder.” He looks back up at Connor, and they share a smile. 

“We should do it more often.”

“Maybe not at four A.M, though,” Arnold giggles.

Connor’s eyes widen. “Oh, gosh, is that really the time?” He laughs, distressed. “I’ve been awake for twenty-six hours!”

Arnold’s heart drops. “Um…!”

“I know, I know, my sleep schedule is horrible. Elder Poptarts is always on my back about it.”

“You should—”

“Yeah,” Connor agrees, standing up. “I know.”

Arnold stands up with him, and they go their separate ways with an agreement to talk more, but just not at this hour. 

As Arnold clambers back into bed, Kevin stirs. He winces as he sits up slightly, turning to face him, eyes barely awake.

“Arnold?”

He sighs. “Hey, buddy,” he whispers.

Kevin looks around, at the door and back to Arnold. “Were you up?” Arnold nods. “What were you doing?”

“I was in the kitchen.”

Kevin blinks a few times, trying to comprehend. “Why?”

“I was talking to Elder McKinley.”

That seems to confuse him even more. He looks over at the door like it started speaking French. “What… What were you talking about?”

Arnold hesitates. He climbs fully into bed, pulling the cover up over him. “Personal stuff.”

“Oh.” Kevin lays back down. “Okay.” He turns over in bed, his back facing Arnold. “Goodnight, best friend,” he says, except the ‘friend’ is a little muffled by him turning his face into his pillow. 

Arnold smiles. “Goodnight, Kevin.”


	5. approval

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idiots to lovers = pricingham incarnate

A pile of letters sits on the coffee table, stacked unevenly one on top of the other. The elders are gathered around it like they’re scientists studying a new specimen, expecting it to leap about, dissolve through the table, turn invisible, or answer all their undying questions. 

They only get mail a couple of times a month — the incongruity between postal services of the US and Uganda doesn’t always keep for the most consistent levels of communication. From time to time there’ll be old news mixed in with what’s current, the envelopes hiding the changing tides and opinions of the writer. The letters sit now, untouched for who knows how long, with their envelopes crumpled and bulging in different places, the only indication of their time and context being the smudged postmark stamps dotting each one of them. The elders hold their breath.

They’re antsy as they look on at the letters, deciding silently what to do with them. Some of them have made their place on the couch, complete with bouncing legs and fingers tapping against knees. The rest hover awkwardly across from them, arms crossed, fingernails between teeth. 

“They can’t be that bad,” someone pipes up. 

There’s a general murmur of uncertain agreement — Arnold doesn’t participate, he  _ knows _ his will be that bad; and worse.

“Look,” Connor says, grabbing all their attention. “Let’s just get it over with, okay?”

Guilt burns a hole through Arnold’s chest. None of them would have to be going through this if it wasn’t for him.

It’s been a few weeks since he and Kevin arrived in Uganda, and a few weeks since the whole ‘dissenting from the church’ fiasco. Finally, the consequences are coming back to hit him. The news has reached America, and their families have finally reached them back, the lag in postal service having created an unease in the certainty of their decisions to stay in Kitguli since. Arnold doesn’t know what’s supposed to happen next. He tries and fails to swallow his nerves. 

Connor leafs through the letters, passing them to the respective elders, skipping by managerial ones meant for his eyes only. Arnold notices Kevin’s shoulders are tight through the whole process, not relaxing even when his letter is in his hand. 

“And…” Connor flicks through the remaining letters, repeating once or twice to make sure he didn’t miss any. “That’s it.” His jaw is set. 

“What?” Arnold says.

“The rest are for me,” Connor responds, not looking Arnold fully in the eye.

Arnold looks between the other elders, all holding their own letters from their families. Their faces range from confusion to awkwardness to pity, and no one says anything. Kevin’s shoulders soften just slightly. 

“I didn’t get one,” Arnold states.

No response. 

“…Oh. I didn’t get one.”

Connor scrambles for something to say. “Uh— Elder Cunningham, it’s alright if you feel, uh… _ sad _ right now…” He looks to the other elders, none of them knowing what to say, either. “If you want to talk about how you feel, we’re all ears, you know, you can just let it out, and…” He flounders. “You can say how you feel,” he repeats.

Arnold furrows his brow. “I’m…fine, actually. This is totally fine. I just…” He trails off mid-sentence.

His friends’ faces are still frozen in awkward pity. It’s a weird look on them. He nods, turning away from the group to make his way to his room, closing the door behind him. 

Not three seconds later, he hears it open and close again behind him. 

“Geez,” he sighs, “it’s really just all or nothing for Elder McKinley, huh?”

Kevin shifts on his feet, putting his letter down on the dresser by the door. “Arnold, are you alright?”

He turns to face Kevin, nearly melting when confronted with the worried look on his face. If Arnold’s being honest, the only thing he really wants to do right now is lie in bed with Kevin and hold him. Thinking about his family and his dad is so hard and confusing, but just existing with Kevin would be so nice. 

He sits down on his bed, restraining himself from bear hugging Kevin. “I don’t know. I’ll probably be fine.”

Kevin sits down next to him, their knees touching. His heart leaps into his throat. 

“Are you sure?”

He sighs, forcing his mind off of his companion. 

“I...I don’t know.” He picks at the fabric of his pants. “I mean, I guess I should have expected something like this, right?  They obviously never cared enough to even be disappointed in me.” There’s a lump in his throat.

“Arnold, no, that’s not...” Kevin sighs, restarting. “Your family...uh, I’m sure their letter just got lost in the mail, or something.”

He scoffs. “Everyone else got theirs. You got yours. Our families probably go to the same post office!” Kevin cringes slightly, and Arnold sighs. “I’m probably being too harsh on them. Hey, maybe they couldn’t send one because they got in a car crash and died.”

“Arnold!”

“Yeah?”

Kevin sputters. “It’s definitely not that! Look, I’m just saying, it was probably some misunderstanding, or something, you know? We don’t know what happened over there.”

Arnold’s still betting on the car crash. “I guess."

Kevin doesn’t say anything in return, just sits patiently with him. It’s nice. For once in his life, there’s not someone trying to get him to tell them how he feels, or telling him how he should be feeling. He remembers the school counsellors, Bishop Donoghue, his parents, always interrogating him, always doing their hardest to coax the truth out of him, always giving up when they didn’t find it. 

But Kevin doesn’t try. He’s sitting here, with Arnold, side by side, just making sure he’s okay. 

“I don’t know what I expected,” Arnold confesses, getting tired of the silence. He realises he actually wants to tell Kevin what he’s thinking. To even tell anyone would be a first. “I mean…I think my mum would be okay with it. Maybe. I’m not sure she’d really comment on it at all. Maybe she wouldn’t even care.”

Kevin says nothing, simply listens. 

“But, my dad…I thought he’d be a lot more shouty than…this.” Than the radio silence. Than not even being bothered to pick up a pen. Than nothing. 

“He’d yell at you?” Kevin’s voice is soft, unobtrusive.

“Well, not at me,” Arnold says, “just at the stupid things I did.”

Kevin furrows his brow. 

Arnold catches himself, backs up his story a little, so he can explain. “I mean, I absolutely hate it. It’s kind of funny though, because he’ll yell at me, and then I’ll cry, and then he’ll yell at me for being too sensitive, and then that just makes me cry more.”

An unsure grimace plays across Kevin’s lips.

Arnold chuckles. He’s not sure if he’s able to stop his mouth from moving at this point. “I mean, it’s what I get, you know. For being, like,” he gestures vaguely to all of himself. “This.” He shrugs good-naturedly. 

Kevin hesitates. “What’s…’this’?”

“Ah, you know. A screw-up. I mean, it must take an extraordinarily bad person to somehow be the reason for everyone in this base getting an angry letter from home. I don’t know why you all accepted my bullcrap and put up with this,” he chuckles. “But then again, even though I made all of you go through getting these letters,  _ I  _ didn’t even get one, because I guess my dad’s just accepted his son’s a failure and—”

“Shut up.”

Arnold’s words catch in his throat. “…What?”

“Shut the f— hell up, Arnold.  _ Stop _ talking like that. It is  _ so annoying.” _

Kevin looks like he’s in the early stages of a migraine. Arnold shrinks down a little.

Kevin’s face softens slightly. “I mean,  _ you’re _ not annoying.” He pauses. “Well…” He shakes his head. “Look, the point is, talking like that doesn’t help anyone! If you’re honestly so concerned about how all of us feel getting these letters, then...you shouldn’t. We all  _ chose _ to stay here, Arnold.  _ I _ chose to stay here. Heck, I was the one who tried to convince everyone to stay! And, who cares about what your dad thinks?”

“I do. That’s the problem.”

Kevin sighs. “I  _ mean, _ you’re an adult now, Arnold, and you’re living miles away from the guy, so...” he exhales through his nose. “What  _ he  _ thinks doesn’t matter. What matters is what you think. And what all your friends here think. What I think. And I think you’re incredible, Arnold. I don’t like seeing you beat yourself up for things that aren’t your fault.”

“Oh.”

Arnold’s stomach doesn’t do a flip, and his heart doesn’t flutter in his chest, but there is warmth flooding through his veins. It’s a comforting, familiar warmth, like sitting here with Kevin is where he’s destined to be, all his choices in life inevitably leading back to right now. It’s not a raucous and loud feeling, like how his infatuation for Kevin had initially hit full force, it’s not causing him to bubble over with laughter and red cheeks. It’s almost perfect. He smiles.

“Thanks, Kevin. I think I know what you mean.” He’s still not convinced he won’t be hearing his dad hovering over him every time he lies, but Kevin does make a few good points — maybe he shouldn’t be taking the whole blame for everyone staying in Uganda. It’s not like they all revolve their choices around him. 

Kevin nods, inching closer to him. “I mean it, Arnold. I…really like you.” He holds Arnold’s hand. His heartbeat jolts, as if the contact between the two of them is electric.

Kevin’s face is so sincere, and he’s getting closer and closer; Arnold realises that he is, too — moving in like it’s a magnetic pull. His heart starts freaking out, racing like a hamster on a wheel, and beads of sweat start appearing unwanted on his hands as they grow clammier and clammier. His breath stutters, shaking as it comes out — and  _ holy shit, _ their faces must be less than three inches apart; he sees Kevin’s eyes flicker shut. 

Arnold stands up. He stands for what’s probably a few moments, but what feels like days, and what he wishes would be eternity. He doesn’t know what to do. 

“Well, I’m gonna…” he starts, not entirely sure if he’s holding his breath or not. He makes his way for the door, surprised when he blinks and it’s already in front of him. “…check on…the others.” His hand is just barely turning the handle before he hears Kevin stand up behind him.

“Wait.” He does what Kevin asks, really wishing he had the strength not to. He can’t see him, but he knows he’s shifting awkwardly on his feet. There’s a few seconds of dead air. Maybe this is Hell. “Why…” He clears his throat. “I’m sorry, but…why didn’t you kiss me?” 

He drops his hand from the door handle, slowly turning around to face Kevin. At least he seems to look a little awkward asking that. “…Are you serious?” A quick inspection of Kevin’s face reveals that he is, indeed, completely serious. 

He’s surprised at Kevin for just asking it pointblank; if Arnold had it his way, he’d be completely fine if neither of them ever mentioned the last few moments of their conversation, and went on pretending nothing ever happened. But apparently it’s all just going to be out in the open now. He hesitates, not sure if he’s brave enough to talk about this stuff. He lets his mouth do it for him, not entirely concentrating. 

“I didn’t feel like it, Kevin,” his mouth decides on. It’s the truth, he knows it. It sounds like a cop out, but it’s true. 

Kevin doesn’t seem to understand. “But…why?”

He exhales. How thick could Kevin be? “Because we were just talking about my  _ dad _ and stuff, man! Is that really the mood you want?”

“I…” He blinks.  _ “No, _ it’s just, I…”

Arnold sighs. “I’m sorry, Kevin.” He turns around to the door again.

“Wait, Arnold, no,” Kevin pleads, and he can hear him stepping a bit closer. 

He turns around again, his patience drawing thin.

Kevin takes a deep breath. “Arnold…we’re soulmates.”

Arnold’s heart stops in his chest. His face is immediately fire hot, his eyes are widened to the size of saucepans, and he’s pretty sure he gasps a little. 

It’s one thing to suspect it, and it’s another thing entirely to know it. It’s one thing for Arnold to tell Connor how he  _ might _ be feeling, and it’s a different ballpark altogether for Kevin to be confessing it to his face. His mind completely blanks. 

“Yeah, I know.”

“What?”

He isn’t sure whether to mentally slap himself or to freak out over the fact that he just accidentally pulled a Han Solo. He does neither, his mind preoccupied with continuing to bluescreen.

“Yeah…we’re soulmates.”

“Wait, you knew?”

He nods.

“Wait, what?” Kevin closes his eyes, holding his hands to his temples. “How long did you know? When did you find out?”

“Um…” When  _ did _ he find out? “Like…a few weeks ago…”

“A few  _ weeks!?” _

“Yeah, it was, like, right after the village did that play for the mission president, and you were telling me everything you liked about it and…yeah.”

“I found out, like, two  _ days _ ago!”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes! I f— oh, my God, I can’t believe this, I—” Kevin buries his face in his hands and releases a muffled shout. 

“Are you alright?”

Kevin doesn’t bring his face up from his hands. “I need a second.”

So he waits, letting Kevin collect himself slowly. They stand silently for a few seconds, and for Arnold, at least, it’s a little awkward. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Kevin raises his face, finally, his eyes still closed as he takes a deep breath in. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

It’s a question that he doesn’t even really know the answer to. Maybe he wasn’t entirely sure that Kevin was his soulmate, and for once in his life he wanted to sit back and look at the facts before jumping in with his mouth running nonsense. Maybe he only found out when they weren’t even really friends yet, and he wanted to see what their relationship could be first before they were soulmates together. Maybe he was just scared. 

“I was…” Kevin opens his eyes now, expectant for an answer. “…trying to work out how I felt.” Is that an appropriate answer? Is that even true?

“About me?”

“Um…” Yes? No? Technically?

Kevin sighs, dropping down to sit on Arnold’s bed. “It’s fine.”

“Kevin…”

“No, really, it’s…” He searches for something to say. “That makes sense. More sense than what I did. I only found out this weekend and I immediately tried to kiss you,” he chuckles, self-conscious. 

“Yeah…” He slowly makes his way to Kevin’s side, gingerly sitting down on his bed. “How  _ did _ you only find out just now?”

“Well, I—”

“I mean, like,” he cuts Kevin off, accidentally,  _ “I _ figured it out when we only knew each other for, like, a week. And I did it by myself, too. And we’ve been living together for so long. We practically share a bed.”

_ “Okay, _ well…” Kevin stalls, collecting his thoughts. “It’s not something that I really think about a lot. Or thought about, I guess. It was just always at the back of my mind. I kinda wanted to get settled here first — I wanted to go on my mission, change the world, focus on all that…

“That didn’t really turn out the way I expected it to. I was sorta anticipating this whirlwind of activity, just endless work and never resting, but… I am nowhere near as involved in everything as I thought I would be. Everything calmed down way quicker than I thought it would. I thought I would put off everything soulmate related until I went back home after my mission was done, but,” he shakes his head, as if still reckoning with the thought, “I just woke up one morning with my impression in my head. Suddenly I  _ had _ to know who my soulmate was. Is. And,” he looks at Arnold, “It’s you.”

Kevin’s smiling sheepishly, subtly reaching for Arnold’s hand. He lets him take it. 

Kevin sighs. “But then these letters came today, and,” he grimaces, “I think I might have the  _ worst _ timing ever…?”

Arnold nods. “You definitely do.”

Kevin laughs. “Cool. Good to know.”

“I mean, I do too, if that helps.”

“What do you mean?”

Arnold looks at him as if it’s obvious. And it kind of is, really. “I sat on my feelings for weeks, you know. If you wanna talk about bad timing, you should count all the times I nearly told you how pretty you were  _ right _ in the middle of a sermon.”

Kevin snorts. “Wow, I kinda wish you had.”

“I thought you’d say that.”

Their cheeks are both tinged red and they laugh quietly together, if only for a brief moment. Arnold’s positive that Kevin must be getting uncomfortable holding his steadily warming hand by now. 

“So. Soulmates,” Kevin states. 

“Yep.” Arnold nods. “Soulmates.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah.”

They share a small laugh. It’s not clear whether either of them have fully begun to realise just how monumental their moment is; to be sitting side by side their soulmate after not even really trying to find them, mere seasons after the universe alerted them to the other’s presence. There’s a warmth growing between them, it’s radiating off of the brightness of Kevin’s smile, the clamminess of Arnold’s hand, the blood rushing to both of their cheeks. The warmth flows from their hearts, surrounds and embraces each other, comforts and calms them. However horrible their timing may be, the beat of their hearts are suddenly as one. 


End file.
